From 104 Degrees to Triumph: The Wife They Tried to Kill

Gavin

Romance | Completed

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My husband, Matthew, was on a ski trip with his mistress, and his assistant, Stella, sweetly told me the Henderson project needed sorting, fever or not. When I tried to call in sick, Matthew scoffed, dismissing my 104-degree fever as "drama." After eight years of being treated like dirt, humiliated and controlled by him, I calmly told him I wanted a divorce, but he only laughed, reminding me he paid for my ailing father' s expensive medical treatments. Minutes later, a company-wide Slack poll popped up: "Is Gabrielle's divorce threat for real this time?" Matthew voted "Fake," and my colleagues piled on with ridicule. When I typed "It's real. I've hired a lawyer. And I quit," I knew my life was about to explode. Still reeling, I went to the office to deliver my resignation, only to be met by Stella. In a horrifying live company video call with Matthew, she had maintenance workers dump buckets of ice water on me, drenching my feverish body. I collapsed, hitting my head on a glass table, and the world went black. Waking in the ER with a concussion, Matthew stood over me, fuming about the cost and the "scene" I'd made, completely devoid of concern. Then came the news: my father's life-saving procedure had been cancelled while I was unconscious. It was Stella, who had used my phone to cancel it and steal the $50,000 bonus Matthew had promised me, gloating that she was Matthew' s ultimate problem-solver. My father was gone. Killed by their casual cruelty. But as the raw agony tore through me, I realized something cold and clear: they had pushed me too far, and now, they would pay. I would take nothing from Matthew but my freedom, and then I would watch their carefully constructed world burn.

Revenge Divorce Workplace Kickass Heroine Personal growth

Chapter 7

11-03 18:21

Introduction

My husband, Matthew, was on a ski trip with his mistress, and his assistant, Stella, sweetly told me the Henderson project needed sorting, fever or not.

When I tried to call in sick, Matthew scoffed, dismissing my 104-degree fever as "drama."

After eight years of being treated like dirt, humiliated and controlled by him, I calmly told him I wanted a divorce, but he only laughed, reminding me he paid for my ailing father' s expensive medical treatments.

Minutes later, a company-wide Slack poll popped up: "Is Gabrielle's divorce threat for real this time?"

Matthew voted "Fake," and my colleagues piled on with ridicule.

When I typed "It's real. I've hired a lawyer. And I quit," I knew my life was about to explode.

Still reeling, I went to the office to deliver my resignation, only to be met by Stella.

In a horrifying live company video call with Matthew, she had maintenance workers dump buckets of ice water on me, drenching my feverish body.

I collapsed, hitting my head on a glass table, and the world went black.

Waking in the ER with a concussion, Matthew stood over me, fuming about the cost and the "scene" I'd made, completely devoid of concern.

Then came the news: my father's life-saving procedure had been cancelled while I was unconscious.

It was Stella, who had used my phone to cancel it and steal the $50,000 bonus Matthew had promised me, gloating that she was Matthew' s ultimate problem-solver.

My father was gone.

Killed by their casual cruelty.

But as the raw agony tore through me, I realized something cold and clear: they had pushed me too far, and now, they would pay.

I would take nothing from Matthew but my freedom, and then I would watch their carefully constructed world burn.